The Error In Your Ways
by giallesa
Summary: Johnlock. Post-Reichenbach. John Watson realised his feeling toward the annoying detective just a little bit too late, and he's now trying to move on. What happened if a certain someone crash his wedding and asked him to abandoned his newlywed wife? M/M
1. Yes

**A/N: **This is my first published story and I know there must be lots of grammatical error, but English is not my first language, so please be kind to me.

**Disclaimer:** I definitely am not Sir ACD nor BBC, I just shamelessly using their character to satisfy myself.

**Warning: **There will be male and male relationship in this fic, I suggest you to close this fic if you didn't like it, though it weird considering the summary was pretty clear about this.

**EDITED**: This is the beta-version of the first chapter. Thanks to **Eli**.

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**Chapter 1 : Yes**

"Are you sure you want to do this?" The woman with ebony hair positively trembled with excitement as she gazed at the band sliding down her ring finger.

There was a short pause before the man replied in a hoarse voice. "Yes, Mary. I _need_ this."

Totally mesmerised by the gold ring circling her finger, she didn't notice the word that he emphasised nor the misery that flitted across his face just before his reply. To be fair, John did lose control only for a second, and there was only one person who could have possibly noticed a thing like that just after being proposed to. Hell, with his power of observation he would not only have noticed, he would even have known the reason for it.

Mary was saying something else but John tuned her out. He was just glad she didn't suspect anything. He sighed in relief and closed his eyes for a second and his old roommate came into view as easy as that. As usual he was wearing his long coat, that blue scarf and John's favourite shirt, the purple shirt. John avoided looking at his face, afraid he would find that same blood covered face, a replica of what he saw nearly three years ago.

'_John, look at me._' The voice was barely above a whisper but John could hear it clearly, he simply pretended not to.

'_John._' It was getting louder and louder, demanding his attention, just like it had before he jumped from that bloody building, arrogant and demanding. Twat. John finally looked up and saw that Sherlock's face was cleared of blood.

'_This is for the best,_' he said.

John shook his head. This was a mistake. Of course this was not for the best. It was, so far, the stupidest thing Sherlock had said to him. But then again, it was his imagination, it was his own word, so as a matter of fact he was the one who was stupid.

It reminded him of the first few days after the burial. John would sit in Sherlock's seat, adopting his usual pose - drawing his legs close to his chest and looping his arms around them - hoping that maybe by imitating his pose and behaviour he could understand and he could have closure, eventually move on, but no such luck. He couldn't understand Sherlock and therefore he couldn't move on. Sherlock's mind was far too brilliant and it was impossible for John's stupid brain to comprehend that. _'Was_ far too brilliant.' John thought bitterly.

'_I'm sorry, John._' Sherlock's face looked pained although it was impossible for him to really feel the pain, but still, it broke John's heart. He moved his hand toward Sherlock's face, but stopped an inch before he touched it.

"I love you."

And then he touched it.

The skin. It felt real. It _was_ real. But instead of touching a smooth and sharp cheekbone, he touched soft rounded skin. Instead of caressing curly, unruly locks, he caressed straight and long hair.

Mary, finally shifted her gaze from the ring and stopped talking. She kissed the palm of John's hand, flung her arms around his neck and buried her head in his shoulder, whispering 'I love you too' into his ear.


	2. The Plan

**EDITED**: This is the beta-version of the second chapter. Thanks to **Eli**.

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**Chapter 2 : The Plan**

"Are you okay with this?" Mary held John's hand tightly as John walked her out to the patio. It was more likely that she was the one who wasn't feeling okay, but she didn't want to admit that she wasn't ready to leave. Conversely John had already planned his whole day without her and was eager to send her to her best friend Kate's house.

"It's your family's tradition to separate, not mine. It's okay if you don't want to do it." John smiled at her, trying to assure her that it really was okay, while inside he was practically urging her away.

Mary sighed. "You know how I hate breaking the tradition. Sometimes I wonder if you're doing this just because you want to get rid of me!"

John laughed and then he patted her hand. "I secretly am."

Mary pouted and coyly hit her soon-to-be husband on the arm. John laughed even harder.

'_That's harsh, John._' John's body went stiff at the voice and his laughter trailed off awkwardly.

'_It's only funny when it's not true._' Sherlock's voice sounded so close, it caressed his ears and sent chills down spine, making his hair stand on end.

He'd been seeing Sherlock for over two years, but it always made him a little jumpy when he appeared out of nowhere, especially because he always appeared when John was lying about his feelings, having a dilemma, or subconsciously detecting danger. Like a little guardian angel that always kept you safe and reminded you to behave, of course with his own style, sarcasm and everything. He remembered the first time Sherlock talked to him.

_For weeks after the burial he just sat on Sherlock's seat, moving only to use the loo. Mrs. Hudson had to practically shove food and drink down his throat. But one day he just got up and asked Mrs. Hudson if she wanted to visit Sherlock's grave. Within 15 minutes they were in a cab on the way to the graveyard._

_Together they stared at the smooth black marble bearing only the words Sherlock Holmes. Mrs. Hudson, despite her attendance at the burial, still found it difficult not to break down. After a couple of minutes of pouring her heart out she decided she couldn't take it anymore and left John alone._

_"This is the first time I've come back." John touched the sharp edge of the headstone. He stepped forward a little, awkwardly sweeping away the leaves that had come to rest upon the headstone. _

_"I didn't believe it Sherlock. Not even for a second." He paused for a second, lowered his head, composing himself before continuing. "No-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie." He whimpered, then shook his head and took a deep breath. "You're the most human—" His voice trailed off. His expression changed from agony to anger in the blink of an eye, and he suddenly raised his head and balled his fists, fighting the urge to throw something at the grave._

_"I know you're not dead." John pointed the grave. "I know you're not dead, Sherlock," he bellowed, "come out you annoying dickhead!" He looked around but the place was silent as the graves it housed. "I'm not going to punch you, I swear... just come out, Sherlock." Again, nothing but complete silence._

_"Okay, whatever your reasons, just come home. I'm off to Tesco now, buying things so I can cook for you." John raised his hand awkwardly, turned and made his way to Tesco. _

_He was in the middle of Tesco, picking up a jar of strawberry jam and reaching for the cart when he heard the voice._

_'Not that one John, it'll expire soon.'_

_He dropped the jar and it made the inevitable din as it smashed and broke into three big chunks of glass and a magenta smear. At first he thought he simply misheard someone else but then he saw him, standing just an arm's reach away in the same clothes he had on when he jumped. He nearly fainted on the spot._

_Luckily a janitor came and distracted him. John helped him to pick up the pieces but he couldn't stop glancing at Sherlock, as if he was too afraid to find out if this was just his imagination or the real..._

_'I'm dead, John. This is only your imagination," he said._

_John wrinkled his forehead, then started laughing hysterically. The janitor looked at him like he was going mental and decided to abandon his task of cleaning the floor. _

_Sherlock came to John, who was still crouching. 'What? Do you think the dead can be revived with the power of love?'_

_"I don't love you." John replied and stood way too quickly, as if challenging Sherlock to prove otherwise. _

_'Good, because while your brain still functions most of the time, adding love to the list of your distractions will cause you nothing but harm. Love is a dangerous disadvantage, John.'_

_"Functions? I'm perfectly fine with my brain. I have a normal brain, you're the one who has a—" he paused, "—unique brain."_

_'Normal is boring. You have to sharpen your mind, John.'_

_"Why do I?"_

_Sherlock didn't respond to his question, just smiled and didn't say anything more, but he followed John everywhere he went that day. Since then he always seemed to appear at the most inconvenient moment possible._

Mary, as clueless as she could ever be, smiled and took John's silence as a signal to go. She kissed his cheek, squeezed his hand and bade him goodbye.

Not long after Mary's car disappeared at the corner of the street, John turned his head toward him and sighed. 'Now is the right time to do it, right?'

Again, Sherlock just smiled at him enigmatically.

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**A/N: **Thank you for **Serenityofthematrix** and the guess for the review. You will not believe how happy I am for your reviews! Oh, before I forgot, any type of reviews, critics and feedback, are strongly encouraged (well, except flame)!

Lots of love

_—_giallesa


	3. Proper Goodbye

**A/N: **I intended to post this in two-part, but after a long consideration, I should just post it in one chapter. So, enjoy the longest chapter I have written. ;3

Thank you to my real-life Sherlock, **ChocolateFrogsForMoony** for beta-ing this chapter.

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**Chapter 3 : Proper Goodbye**

John stepped out of the cab carrying a bouquet of flowers. Tulips. Sherlock never said what his favourite flowers were, but he deduced it once they went to a florists, to interview the owner slash Sherlock's primary suspect. Whilst there, John noticed him staring at the yellow tulips sitting in a small black bucket, in the middle of the questioning. John knew that Sherlock didn't have the slightest interest in any other flower, so he decided that Sherlock liked yellow tulips and he has always brought a bouquet every time he visited Sherlock.

On the way to Sherlock's grave, John saw a woman in her late forties, standing a few graves away from Sherlock's. She had always been there whenever John visited Sherlock. They had chatted before, but she had never mentioned to him what her name was. Well it wasn't even a proper chat anyway; they never talked about anything else other than reminiscing their memories with their loved ones. It's just like a rule between John and her, not to talk about themselves. It's all just about Sherlock and her fifteen-year-old son, Toby.

_It had happened a year after Sherlock's burial. They had met in the graveyard so many times before. But then John had stopped coming to Sherlock's grave for a while after he moved out from Baker Street. He was on his way to Sherlock's when suddenly he heard the woman's voice._

_"I haven't seen you for a while." _

_John stopped, turning on his heels to face her and smiled sadly. "Yeah, I know. Things got complicated. But I've sorted out the problem and here I am." _

_She nodded; she paused for a moment as though trying to find the correct words. She tilted her head towards Sherlock's grave. "Couldn't stay away from him, could you?" John smiled weakly, playing with the bouquet that he carried. _

_"It's hard letting the people you love go." She said after awhile. _

___"I'm not!" He snapped, then inhaled deeply after realising he had just yelled at the women. "…I don't love him." _

_The woman wrinkled her forehead. "No, I'm not talking about you. I mean in general. I lost my son, Toby, and it's hard to let him go."_

_He can almost hear the blood rushing to his face, making him look like a steamed crab. Trying to keep his cool, he cleared his throat and opened his mouth. Not a word came out, so he shut it again._

_"My son, he—he died. Suicide." She lowered her face, patting the headstone. _

_John felt like he was punched right in the pit of his stomach. _

___"He was so young, so innocent. He may not be a straight A student, but the teachers loved him. He always smiled to whomever he met. He never—his friends bullied him." She paused and then in haled deeply. "They bullied him for being gay."_

Another punch to the pit of his stomach, this time, for a completely different reason.

___"I'm sorry to hear that." He said.  
_

_"I was never there for him. I should have told him that it doesn't matter what everybody thinks of you. If you love someone, no matter their gender, then go for it." She looked up to John tears welling in her eyes. "And denying things doesn't make anything get any better." She gave John a smile. There was something in her smile that twisted John's stomach. _

_John stayed quiet, soaking up her words, trying to compose his sentence. _

_"It doesn't matter. Sherlock died. I'm just too late to realise that I have feelings for him." He said, looked pretty surprised with his own words, but the fact is, after 'Sherlock' asked him not to fall in love with him, he's been re-evaluate his feeling towards him. How Sherlock always be the top priority against dating/shagging his girlfriend. How he always forgive Sherlock for ruining his dates. How he secretly enjoyed being dragged out from his dates. And how his world, without him knowing it, revolved around Sherlock. How Sherlock suddenly meant everything to him. _

___He's been on denial phase for months, but this makes it clear, that he, John Watson, was in fact in love with Sherlock Holmes, the annoying detective._

_Thousand of bricks fell to his back. He felt like the feeling of losing Sherlock hit him hard in the heart all over again. _

_"At least you know how you feel about him." She grabs John's hand and squeezed it gently._

_"Thanks." John said awkwardly. "I think I better—" He gestured at Sherlock's grave. "Bye."_

* * *

_'John, I told you, not to fall in love with me.' Sherlock said. He had been hovering in John's vision for quite sometime, after he snapped at the woman to be precise, but hadn't said a single word until John walked away from her. _

_"Shut up, Sherlock." John said in a low murmur. "I love you, and there's nothing I can do about it." _

_Sherlock didn't say anything after that. The real Sherlock wouldn't be so quiet. He would definitely say something like 'I'm married to my work'. John missed his Sherlock. _

John dismissed the memory. He didn't like to remember how late he realised his feelings towards Sherlock. As John walked towards Sherlock's grave he noticed the woman exciting the cemetery from the corner of his eye, her eyes red rimmed, she'd been crying about Toby again.

Sherlock looked back at him, still quiet from earlier. John gave him an odd face and turned his face to the paved stone pathway. He walked absentmindedly and then stopped all at once. Apparently, his body memorized the path to Sherlock's grave so well he didn't have to actually watch where he goes to get there.

John placed the bouquet on the grave.

"Hey, Sherlock." John patted the headstone carefully, as if he was touching something so fragile. "I haven't visited you for a while now." He straightened his back, and he looked around. No, Sherlock, as usual. Sherlock always disappeared whenever John talked to the grave, making it more painful to speak, because imaginary Sherlock made his death a little unreal to him.

"It's been over two years," John hesitated and then shook his head. "Almost three years, Sherlock."

"I've told my therapist about you." He murmured then continued in a low and painful whisper. "I've told her how I feel about you." He shook his head, as if he wanted to shake away the pain. "She said I should get a closure. I never really listen to her, but now that I think about it I would never be happy with Mary if I didn't say a proper goodbye to you." He paused and then slipping his hand to the pocket, fishing a cream coloured card from his Jacket.

"I don't know if you noticed, but there was a reason why I had stopped visiting you."John tapped his fingers on the card now. It was an invitation card. A simple wedding invitation card, with 'John Watson' and 'Mary Morstan' embossed in golden ink.

"I don't think I ever told you about this girl." John paused. "She's Mary; I met her eight months ago on one of the night when I force myself to socialise with the world, spreading words that you are not a fraud." John smiled. "It's getting there Sherlock, everyone is starting to doubt Richard Brook now that one of the judges confess that he received a threat from Moriarty to—" His voice trailed off. "Anyway, she's one of people who actually listen to me. She thinks I'm sweet because I always defended you. She attracted by my 'sensitivity'."

"I assume she never heard the rumour that I am in love with you... or maybe she heard about it but decided not to believe a word of it." John shrugged. "Either way, she likes me. And because she really listens to me, I asked her to meet again. Not in a way that—"

"I'm not asking her to a date; it's just a man asking a woman to talk over dinner. Not too fancy place, but still count as a restaurant. We went there a couple of times, I enjoyed her companion and she enjoyed me telling our story. I was not making a move on her, until she kissed me."

John looked around, as if he wanted to make sure that Mary isn't hearing what he will said next. There was an old man standing a couple of graves behind him, but that's far enough for John.

"She kissed me and … all I could think about was you."

John stopped talking. It sounded twice as bad as what it sounded like in his head. He could actually imagine Sherlock rolling his eyes. "You died, Sherlock, you don't have the right to judged me." John finally speaks again.

"She's the exact opposite of you. She's nice, sociable, a good listener. I'm sure you'll hate her. In a way, maybe that's what makes me like her. She's not you." John tried to smiled, but his face fell in a second.

"She's not brilliant, exciting, nor dangerous. She didn't have all of those things. She's not you." He balled his fist then opened it, again and again until he cannot feel his own hand. "She's not you, Sherlock."

"But, even though she lacked in all those things you're good at, she made up in important thing... she's alive and—" John choked as he feel a tennis ball-size lump in his throat. "—and you're not."

"I love you, Sherlock, I always will. It's just that I can't live like this for the rest of my life. I—" He's voice trailed off. "I'm marrying a girl tomorrow Sherlock. I know I supposed to be a very happy man, and I will… but just let me say a proper goodbye to you, so that I can move on with my life."

"Let me grieve for another ten minutes and I'll walk out from here without feeling like I cheated on you."

* * *

Two and half an hours later, John left the graveyard with his shoulder squared back, walking with a limp. Just like the old days, days before he meet Sherlock. Empty and meaningless

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**A/N: **I'm sorry for anyone that hate author's note, but I cannot stop thanking people who leave reviews. Thank you for ** Sherlocked. For. Life **; **Black Fullmoon **and **Mewknight** for the reviews it means so much for me.

There's no harm in leaving reviews :3


	4. Nightmares

**A/N: **There are a couple of part on this chapter that I got from Ariane's Sherlock transcript, She's so brilliant and thorough I can't thank her enough to write all Sherlock transcript. That way, I don't have to paused every minute to quote the earlier part of this chapter (not that I mind, but with her transcript I can save a lot of time).

http: arianedevere. livejournal (slash) 31651. html

**EDITED**: This is the beta-version of the fourth chapter. Thanks to **Eli**.

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**Chapter **4 : Nightmares

_John's phone rings. It's from Sherlock. John quickens his steps while answering the phone. "Hey, Sherlock, you okay?"_

_"Turn around and walk back the way you came now."_

_"No, I'm coming in."_

_"Just do as I ask. Please." Sherlock's voice is spiked with panic. Sherlock never seems to panic, and this worries John. He does what he's told and looks around. "Where?"_

_"Stop there."_

_"Sherlock?" John stops._

_"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."_

_John turns and looks up and his stomach lurches with horror. "Oh God."_

_"I ... I ... I can't come down, so we'll ... we'll just have to do it like this."_

_'What the hell's he doing now?' John's heart beats faster. "What's going on?"_

_"An apology… It's all true." _

_"Wh-what?"_

_"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty." _

_John stares up at Sherlock in disbelief. "Why are you saying this?"_

_"I'm a fake." _

_"Sherlock..."_

_His voice becomes tearful. "The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."_

_"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met, the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"_

_"Nobody could be that clever."_

_"You could."_

_Sherlock half-laughs and gazes down at John. "I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you." He sniffles. "It's a trick. Just a magic trick."_

_John has his eyes closed and is shaking his head repeatedly. "No. All right, stop it now." He starts to walk towards the hospital entrance._

_"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move."_

_John stops and backs up, holding his hand up towards Sherlock in capitulation. "All right."_

_Sherlock reaches out to John, breath erratic."Keep your eyes fixed on me." His voice becomes frantic. "Please, will you do this for me?"_

_"Do what?"_

_"This phone call – it's, er ... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they – leave a note?"_

_John shakes his head and momentarily lowers his phone as the reality of what he's hearing hits him. 'Oh no you bastard, you cannot do this to me.' He raises his phone. "Leave a note when?" he asks shakily._

_"Goodbye, John."_

_"No. Don't."_

_Sherlock gazes down at him for several seconds, then he lowers his arm, drops the phone onto the roof, gazes sightlessly ahead and steps forward. John lowers his own phone and screams._

_"N - SHERLOCK!"_

John woke with a jolt, soaking with sweat and gasping for air. His whole body was trembling as though he had run for miles without stopping. His chest was tightening, he placed his hand on it and inhaled deeply, trying to relax.

He turned his head to the left. No Mary. Then he remembered they were separated before the wedding.

"Nightmare," he whispered. "Stupid nightmare."

John started having nightmares after he was sent back to England. He had nightmares almost every time he went to sleep, rattling gunfire and blazing sun and delirious pain. After he moved in with Sherlock the frequency of the nightmares had reduced drastically. He was still haunted by his past, but with Sherlock's existence, everything seemed bearable. Now that there was no Sherlock anymore, the nightmare seemed to haunt him even more.

He stayed in that position for a while, his breath and heart rate gradually returning to normal. He took a glance at the clock, 2:45 am. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, threw his duvet from his body, stood up, walked from his room. Back in the day in Baker Street, John would sit up on the couch and then Sherlock would emerge from other room carrying his violin and playing soft tunes. Soothing tunes.

Half of the time, it was his own compositions. John had his favourite, and it was one that Sherlock had made.

_"Can you play it, Sherlock?" John shifted to a more comfortable sitting position._

_"Which one?" _

_"It's my favourite. You know," John pretended to hold a violin and moved an invisible bow. "Ngiik ngik ngiiiiiik ngik ngik."_

_"Oh John, please tell me you're not having an asthma attack right now."_

_"Tosser." John pouted but then the two of them laughed._

_"It was one of mine. It's still untitled. We can call it yours." Sherlock shrugged and put the violin between his shoulder and his chin._

_"'Yours'?"_

_"I mean '_John's_' since you said it was your favourite. It's better than hearing _your_ violin impression."_

_"Arse." John smiled and then nodded. "Can you play _John's_ now?"_

_"With pleasure." Sherlock raised his bow._

There was no actual violin sound waves reaching his eardrum, but John could hear it clearly - the sound of _John's_ playing softly, just like the way Sherlock played it. John closed his eyes, enjoying the beautiful tunes.

When it finished he sobbed quietly. Even after promising to move on he still missed him.

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**A/N: **Thank you to **EliMayz **and** nannily **for the review :3


	5. Unexpected Visitor

**A/N: **First of all, forgive me for not updating soon. I've wanted to published this story since last week but I can't find a right time to do it. There was always something stopping me. Anyway, enjoy reading this chapter. :3

**EDITED**: This is the beta-version of the fifth chapter. Thanks to **Eli**.

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**Chapter** 5: Unexpected Visitor

A loud knock on the door made John jump from his sleep to a sitting position. The sun streamed right into his eyes, made him feel more than a littlea little disoriented. He looked around and realised that he was in the living room. His neck was sore from sleeping on the couch, but he still considered it the best sleep he'd had in a week. At least he had slept until after sunrise. He cracked his neck and rubbed it; stayed on the couch to gather up his consciousness, but whoever was at the door wasn't having any of it. John stood up, walked toward the door with slight annoyance as the knocking turned to hammering.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm here," he mumbled, still rubbing his neck. "Hold on!" he yelled and opened the door.

In front of him stood a balding brown-haired man, looking a little relieved once the door was open. He scanned John's appearance and pulled a face.

"You look like shit," he said.

"It's early morning. I have the right to look like shit after being rudely awoken from my sleep." He gestured for Mike Stamford to enter the room, but Mike didn't come in. He just stood there looking confused.

"Oh, what do you want, Mike? It"s too early. If you don't have anything important to say, please be somewhere else and wake up other people."

Mike leaned on the door frame and folded his arms across his chest. "Oh God, you've forgotten, haven't you?"

"Please just cut the crap and tell me, what did I—" John stopped in the middle of his sentence and froze. The cogs in his brain whirled and then he remembered Sherlock's words, '_You see but do not observe.'_ Now he understood what it meant.

"No way." John glanced at the calendar on the wall, "God, no."

Mike nodded his head slowly and pointed at John accusingly. "This is your wedding day, hence the suit and bowtie that I currently wear."

"I remember that now, thank you," John groaned. "How can a groom forget his own wedding day?" He glanced at the clock. There was enough time to do everything, but he'd have to do it quickly. "Please don't tell Mary about this."

"About what?" He winked.

"Thank you," said John hastily and then made a beeline to the bathroom. "I'm going to clean myself a bit and then get change. Sit down and make yourself a cuppa."

"No thanks, I'm too nervous to even drink."

"Why?" A muffled voice came from the bathroom.

"Oh, I don't know!" Mike threw his hands on the air, frustrated. "Maybe because keeping you on time was the only responsiblity I had, and for some reason, I screwed it up!" There was no response from John, only the sound of his electric toothbrush.

Mike threw himselfonto the couch but then he saw a couple of boxes marked 'John' on the carpet so he stood and approached them. He wrinkled his forehead. John moved in almost 2 months ago, he should have finished unpacking ages ago. He was just about to open the box when John emerged from the other room.

"Don't worry, we'll be there on time," John grinned as he appeared while buttoning up his suit. "I was in the army, I know how to get dressed fast."

Mike nodded and nodded at the door. "Let's go then."

* * *

"There are so many bloody taxis when you don't need one and none when you need it the most..." Mike fidgeted on the edge of the concrete street and started scraping at the gravel like a toddler. John couldn't help snorting at the sight. He tried to cover it with a cough but Mike knew better.

"Oh, I'm glad one of us finding this situation amusing, because I happened to know someone that arranged your wedding. And I knew perfectly well that she will kill me."

"Just relax, Mike. I'm the one who's getting married, shouldn't I be the one panicking?"

"Yes, and you're not, so I'll do it for you."

John smiled at Mike, glad that they were friends. He was one of the few people who'd helped him get back on his feet after Sherlock's death. John's expression changed for a second, hating his train of thought that always took him back to Sherlock. He was supposed to be happy today, he'd told that to Sherlock himself yesterday.

"There is a God." Mike looked up and whispered 'thank you' then waved his hands frantically as a cab appeared on the corner of the road.

Mike was just about to open the door when someone called to John from the other side of the street.

"Isn't that... Lestrade?" Mike asked, blinking at the man half running toward them.

"Yes, but we'd better get going. Just hop in, Mike." John opened the door hastily and pushed Mike in. Mike slid in and when John was about to put his foot in someone grasped his arm.

"John..." Lestrade huffed and panted.

"Lestrade," Lestrade flinched at his brusque tone, "I don't have time for you now. I really need to go."

"I'm sorry... I know I shouldn't have said what I said back then, but Sherlock—"

"I really need to go, I cannot be late for my own wedding." John wriggled away and sat in the cab.

"I—" Lestrade tried to talk but John slammed he door in his face.

"Go." John instructed the cabbie.

The engine grumbled softly to itself as the cab drove off. Seconds later John felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and he fished it out. Incoming call from Lestrade; he rejected it right away. Mike turned to John.

"Okay, what was that?"

"What was what?"

His phone vibrated again; another call from Lestrade. John sighed and turned off his phone.

"That," Mike gestured to Lestrade's direction "and that!" He pointed at John's phone.

John shrugged.

"I don't mean to pry, but I thought you and Lestrade were pretty close."

"Not anymore," John replied shortly. Mike looked like he wanted to say something but John beat him to it. "Please, I don't want to think about that today. Can you just—" John left the sentence hanging there, quite sure that Mike got the message.

Mike nodded, still looking puzzled. He spent the rest of the journey glancing at John who was staring out of the window, thinking about the unexpected visit from Lestrade. They hadn't exactly parted as friends the last time they met..

* * *

_John wasn't coping well with Sherlock's death, everybody knew that. He didn't eat properly, didn't sleep properly, thank God he still showered. Mrs. Hudson tried to talk to him but he didn't say anything. He just sat on Sherlock's seat and mourned for days. Mrs. Hudson didn't just lose Sherlock, she also lost John that day. She lost both of her boys._

_Every sense in John's body was receiving information far too much, he just choose to ignore it all. He could hear Mrs. Hudson talking, he could hear the phone, he could hear the clock's maddening tick. He hated it, because every tick he heard he spent without Sherlock. He didn't want to feel this way. No._

_"John..." A familiar voice came from the stairs. 'Greg,' John thought, but again, he choose to ignore everything._

_"John..." The man finally appeared, and sat on John's vacated seat. "Mrs. Hudson's nearly gone mad trying to talk to you, so she called me and asked me to talk to you." He looked at John. _

_"You cannot live like this." He settled down on John's old seat and continued to talk, imploring him to move on. John heard him talking, half of the time he forgot what he heard as soon as the words came out Lestrade's mouth and the other time he just heard noises without meaning. That was until Lestrade said something that caught John's attention._

_"...as far as I'm concerned, Sherlock's gone for good. Can't you see that without him, the crime rate's decre—" Lestrade didn't get the chance to finish his sentence because in a split second John had jumped up and grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him up._

_John was shorter than Lestrade, and yet somehow Lestrade felt smaller than him. He pulled Lestrade forward until their faces were just inches apart and talked deliberately slowly. "_Don't you ever talk about Sherlock like that_." Then he released him._

_Every emotion bottled up from the last couple of weeks had finally exploded._

_"I wouldn't be surprised to hear your ungrateful subordinates talking about him like that, not that I like it though, but __**you**__..." He paused and glared at him. "I thought you were his friend."_

_"How long have you worked with him?" When Lestrade failed to respond, John raised his voice. "Six years? Almost seven?"_

_"Tell me, in all those years, how many time have you asked for his help?" Lestrade stood silently. "I've witnessed you asking for his help tons of times, and that was just in two years of me being his room-mate." John pointed sharply at Lestrade. "You never paid him for it either... and I'm not talking about money, I'm talking about you and your subordinates' appreciation of him."_

_Lestrade was speechless, he'd never seen this side of John Watson. He used to see John as Sherlock's personal assistant, who apologised on behalf of Sherlock's blunt rudeness, a good doctor. He never knew that John could be this—fiery._

_"It wasn't his idea to publish the stories on my blog. It was mine. You want to know why? Because even though he didn't mind you getting all the credit for solving a case, he deserved it too." John inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. "I want the world to know him better, not as an annoying dick, but as a great detective."_

_"He never asked for fame." His tone became softer. "It bothered him because the criminals started to recognise him. He could only go on a case with disguises." He paused. "So, please tell me, with that brilliant brain of yours, what makes you believe he was a fraud?"_

_Lestrade looked baffled at the possibility that Sherlock really was innocent. How ludicrous! Sherlock, without a doubt, was an innocent man._

_"Don't get me wrong, I never accused him of being a fraud," Lestrade finally replied. "But did you not smell something fishy about Sherlock?"_

_"Like what?"_

_"He can read people like a bloody open book."_

_"He deduced it from the details!"_

_"How he guess—"_

_"Sherlock never guessed!" John cut in. "This is ridiculous, you knew him way before I did. I'm sure you know all of this. You just don't want to feel guilty for trying to arrest him."_

_Lestrade shook his head. "I can't believe that his 'charm' is strong enough to make you defend him like this."_

_"I'm sorry—what?"_

_"Charm, you know, he tricked you to do things. He tricked you like he tricked Molly. You two would do almost anything for him."_

_This time, Lestrade had rendered John speechless._

_"He used you to clean up his mess. John your love for Sher—"_

_"Get out." John paused before raising his voice, yelling at Lestrade. "GET OUT!"_

_"John, please. I just want to help."_

_"If you are trying to help by insulting Sherlock, then your help is not needed." John pushed Lestrade toward the stairs. "You're not welcomed here any more!"_

_"Okay, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."_

_"Sherlock's right. It's hard to kill an idea once it's planted in your brain. You're altering the facts to match the ideas you have. Now, OUT!"_

_Lestrade stared at John hopelessly before descending the stairs._

* * *

The screeching sound of the tyres on the road drove back John to the present day. They finally arrived at the church. John sighed before he got out, feeling highly annoyed.

'I'm happy. This is my wedding. I love Mary Morstan.' He kept chanting it beneath his breath, hoping repeating it a dozen times would make it true.

* * *

**A/N: **Again, thank you to **EliMayz **and** nannily **for the review. I wrote Sherlock playing violin to soothe John from his nightmares scene because IT IS CANON and I always love when I read a fic that mentioned it. The other reason is because I just had a musical interpretation in my theatre practice. They use violin as one of the instrument and since then I cannot get the sound out of my head. It's so perfect that I want you all to hear it. LAKFDHJDFHJDJKFJD_—_


	6. Bad Luck

**A/N:** First of all, I'm sorry for publishing this chapter so late, I recently got a part in a big theatre show and I've been really busy working my ass off for it, but I tried my best to write in between the rehearsal. I'm really grateful for the reviews. **WhatHo**,** Shadows. in. the. moon**,** EliMays**, and **Nannily**. After you leave the reviews, I've been trying to write better, but I'm still learning, so_—_ :3 hope you can forgive me.

Second, this chapter (and the next few chapter) are going to be different. I'm going to use the character's POV and_—_jjfgsljgfdsk I want to explained it, but I don't want to spoiled the next one, so I just gonna say, hang on a bit for this chapter.

And lastly, I want to thanks my wonderful friends, **ChocolateFrogsForMoony** and **Eli**, for beta-ing all the previous chapter. I just finished re-uploading them all.

* * *

**Chapter** 6: Bad Luck

Mary's POV

You know how the groom seeing the bride before the wedding can bring bad luck? I cannot say that I didn't believe it, but I guess I'm not superstitious enough to cast away the idea of seeing him before the wedding. Especially because he hadn't showed up until now and we can't contacted him all morning. Kate told me not to worry, but I saw her phoning Mike like a madman herself.

After 30 minutes of panic, Mike sent her a text, which was a huge relief to us. "Okay, they are on their way." Kate sighed and continued to scrolled the text. "In 10 minutes." She clenched her jaw. "Great, now I have to tell everyone that they'll arrive shortly. _You_," She pointed at me, emphasising her word. "stay right here."

I know I should listen to her, but I really need to see John.

* * *

I'm not as ignorant as everybody thought. I knew all about John and Sherlock for such a long time. The detective and his blogger. I knew him before I even met him. Yes, I read his blog, but he wasn't aware of that. As far as he know, I never read his blog.

At first I thought that everything John posted on his blog was an utter rubbish. An entertaining rubbish, mind you. But my opinion change after The Reichenbach case. Sherlock's name was on the newspaper, solving difficult case, just like any other cases that John posted in his blog. For the first time, I believe that Sherlock was not a made up super genius human character, he really was a genius detective. He was real, and John posted their adventure together.

Then Moriarty case came up. There's something unusual about that case. John wrote a short post about it; saying how disturbed Sherlock was with Moriarty's behaviour. He said Moriarty was too sloppy, and thus, he must be planning something. It was clear that both John and Sherlock didn't like him, not that they ever showed fondness upon criminals either. To be honest, I didn't like him either. His confidence and calmness was a little unnerving for me. Sherlock was right though, because not long after the trial, the jury decided that he was innocent. I'm baffled with the news, how can he escape being sentenced, when he was obviously did it? And then, it gets worse. The media started doubting Sherlock. They said Sherlock was a fraud; that he invented all the crimes that he had solved, including Moriarty. Now, that's just not makes sense, right?

Days later, Kate came to me, knowing that I am one of many people who enjoyed reading Sherlock's adventure, saying that I probably wouldn't hear any new story about the detective, because Sherlock is dead. She handed me the paper, and it was right there. The big headline 'Suicide of Fake Genius'. It says that Sherlock took his own life because he can't handled the fact that people knew about his scam. I was taken aback by the news, and so my faith in Sherlock was shaken. Why would he jumped, if he really was innocent? But, I don't know. It's not like I'm his best friend or something, maybe there's another reason. I wouldn't know about it, wouldn't I? John would.

John. That poor sod, I cannot imagine what he had been through. I mean I know from the way he dedicate his blog for Sherlock that he cares about him, that he trust him. It must be hard for him, especially because the news mentioned that John was one of the people who saw him jumped. God forbid, but I'm too nosy to quit sticking my nose on this matter. I want to know what John will say in his eulogy, so when I overheard someone in the market mentioning his service I determined to go there.

All that I know he's not widely known for his hospitality, but there's a lot of people at his service. And when I say a lot, I mean massive. The seat were full, and a lot of people had to stood. I heard lots of people talking about him, saying how Sherlock help them and how they're grateful for what he did, even though he's a dick for most of the time. How can a fraud detective have such so many people attending his service? It's not a solid prove, but now, I believe that Sherlock is innocent.

One of the reason I went there was John, so when I found out that he didn't go to the funeral, I felt a little disappointed. Why did he not go to his best friend funeral was a mystery to me. Mystery that I figured out over a month after we first met.

* * *

_It was 8 month ago. We, Kate and I, went to a pub for celebrating things that I don't even remember. He sat in front of the bar with two other man, deep in their conversation. I nearly overlooked him, luckily, I heard him mentioning Sherlock. That was when I really sees him. He has a sandy coloured hair, with light blue eyes. John catched a glimpse of me staring at him before I pulled Kate to the nearest available seat._

_Even though it been more than two years, I still interested in their story. John and Sherlock's story. Obviously Kate being unusually sharp whenever I want to hide something. She said that she caught me secretly (but failed miserably) staring at him, every time I got a chance to. After fifteen minutes of denial and persuasion, Kate finally succeeded to make me to go and talk to him._

_He was already alone by the time I finally plucked up my courage and made my way through the crowd. I sat beside him, but before I even think of an opening line, I heard his voice._

_"Should have done it twenty minutes ago." _

_I was the only one near to him, but I wasn't sure he talked to me. Hell, I'm not even sure that he was the one who talked. I turned to him and asked weakly. "What?"_

_"You," He sipped his drink. "sitting here."_

_"What?" I repeated my word, but this time a little louder._

_"I saw you staring to this direction when you entered the pub and when your friend not talking to you, you tend to look this way, so I thought you want to sit here for some reason."_

_"How do you even know that?"_

_"Well, the mirror behind the bar helps a lot." He twisted his body to my direction and smile. He looks cuter than what I saw in the paper._

_"I'm Mary Morstan," I offered my hand which soon covered with his warm and electrical hand._

_"I'm John Watson." _

_"I know."_

_"You know me?" He asked rather confused._

_I want to say that I know him because I read his blog, but that sound too—stalkerish, so I smiled and altered the truth a little. "Yes, I _thought_ I knew you from somewhere, and my friend over there," I pointed Kate, whom smiled awkwardly, "Says that I might recognise you from the paper or your blog. You're John Watson, the blogger."_

_Now he turned his body to me. "I don't believe people still remember my blog, leave alone read—it."_

_"I don't read it. She" I'm gesturing to Kate "did. I just read the newspaper's version. People says it more—" I waved my hand vaguely, trying to find the right word. "—objective." Lie. It was the other way around. Newspapers are rubbish._

_"No, they are far from objective. They often change the fact just because they thought people will love the twist they give. In other words, they are manipulative." John turned his body back to the bar. Seconds later I realised that I'm supposed to asked him for 'the truth'._

_"So what's the truth then?"_

Then John begun to tell everything. He started from the very beginning of their meeting. It's like re-reading his whole blog, but with more detail. It was so good to see him told their story that way. I thought he would look a little depressed when he told their story, but he don't. Well, maybe he is, I just don't know him well enough that time to realise whether he was just acting or not. Now that I know him well, I'm able to spot him when he masked something.

If I wasn't already believe in Sherlock, then I would be. I don't know how he does it, but he brainwashed me into believing in Sherlock. We talked so easily that I even forgot about Kate. Luckily, she found her own 'entertainment' so she didn't mind. At the end of our conversation, we agreed to have lunch together two days after that, and ever since that lunch, we always have managed to go out three times a week.

After a month, I became really close to John. I begin to understand him, begin to truly knew him. Many could be deceived by his act, but not me. He seems okay, he laughed, he smiled, he carries on, but there's something that broken inside. I know for a fact that he's in love with Sherlock. I had suspected it from the first time, but I dismissed the idea because I know that John only dates women. It didn't even occurred to me that he might be a bisexual. It solved the mystery of his absence at the funeral. John loves Sherlock too much to even handled seeing him buried. I know I don't have the right to be angry, but I'm angry for Sherlock to leave John like this.

I swore to myself that I'll do anything to make John feel better. And I did my best to make him forget by acting like I don't know anything about his feeling toward Sherlock.

It took me a month to accepted that my reasons to make John smile is not because I want my friend to be happy, but because I want the one that I love to be happy. Damn right I feel in love with him. It was stupid. He loves Sherlock and I will never win.

That's why I'm surprised with my own action when I kissed him. I thought that kissing him will definitely put him off and that'll be the last time I saw him, but he reciprocated it. He was hesitant at first, but after a few moment his lips started to move with mine. It was sweet and loving kiss for a minute, then he slowly pulled back. He went without another word, even after I told him I'll call him later. That moment, my hope flickered back to life.

But then it died, again.

He didn't return my call or my text for days. I thought maybe he just too polite to rejected me when we kissed, but John's not like that, he will tell me even if it will tampered our relationship. Exactly seven days after we kissed, my door bell rang and he was there, leaned to my door frame, shoulder slumped like a lost puppy. I called his name, and he looked at me. He kissed me again. This time, he didn't hold anything back.

I'm not that naïve, to believe that John already forget about Sherlock. But I also not that pathetic to dwell on that fact. I asked him to moved in with me. I'm not even regret it when he said that it was too fast. I told you, I will do anything to make him forget.

About three months ago, John proposed to me. I'm surprised and thrilled, I cannot contained myself not to ranted about how happy I was. That was when I realised that he might probably proposed me because of something that he found while he back to Baker Street for a chat with Mrs. Hudson earlier that week. But that's when he suddenly looked very serious and said that he love me. It was the first time he said it. And I know from his look that he mean it. I knew he would fall in love with me eventually.

The next few months, was easy. John finally agreed to move in with me, meet my whole family. I was over the moon because everything seems falling into place, but this early morning he didn't return my phone. It might be just me being a paranoid, but I can sensed that this might be the rock that will bring me down. In the end, it doesn't matter if it was just paranoid, I need so see him. I need to make sure that he still want to get married. So when Kate leave the room ten minutes ago, I went to his room and hide there until he arrived.

It was easier to say than done. Sneaking around the church which filled with our families was hard, not to mention my limited movement that caused by the fluffy dress that I wore. Minutes later, I succeeded breaking into the groom's lounge. I've been waiting for almost six minutes before the door finally opened.

The first man I saw was John. He look disturbed and in a bad mood. Mike was soon followed after him. He stared at his phone, he looked panic. When he was about to say something, I stepped out from the dark corner of the room.

"John, what happened, dear."

His expression snapped from disturbed to confused. Both of the men called out my name in surprise, but only John approached me. Mike frantically typed something on his phone and went outside the room.

"I need to see you John."

"Is there anything wrong?" John hugged me for a brief moment and pushed me away for an inspection.

I faintly heard Mike's voice informing Kate that he found me and I was in the groom's lounge room.

"I'm okay John, I just need to see you. Why can't we call you this entire morning?"

Mike was reentering the room, mumbling complain that he almost get a heart attack from my sudden appearance. Mike sighed before soften his tone. "You shouldn't be here, Mary. It will bring bad luck." Mike said.

"I know. I just want to know why he—" Before I can finished my sentence, the door burst open.

"There you are, Mary!" Kate huffed as she walked in to the room. She worried and absolutely pissed; If I'm not feeling worried myself about John, I'll feel bad for her. "Come on, you've seen him now, he's okay, so let's go back to your room." She gripped my arm to pulled me off the room, but I wiggled myself free and walked toward John.

"I just need a minute, Kate." I said to her when she tried to gripped my arm again. "What happened John?"

Mike and John shared a look. John sighed before replying. "I met Lestrade."

"Wait, Lestrade...the DI Lestrade?" I know him only from John's story (and his blog, but he doesn't know that). He sounds like a nice bloke before... Well, before he made a great fool out of himself. He knew perfectly well that John is forever Sherlock's finest believer. I mean why poke the dragon? "What does he said?"

"Nothing. I stopped him before he can say anything."

The room stays quiet for a while and Kate petted my arm gently.

"Well, now that you know that john's fine, can you come with me?"

I nodded and followed her out of the lounge. I turned my head a couple of times to take a peak at John. His expression was unreadable. Something's not right, but I let it go.

* * *

"This is really happening." I grinned at Kate nervously. She scanned me from head to toe.

"Well, you look irritatingly happy." Kate fixed my veil once again. "I can't believe you married first." She sniffled but then smiled with teary eyes. "I hope you two will be happy."

"Thank you." I smiled and kissed her cheek. "Now, remember, I will throw the bouquet to my left side, okay?" I winked and she laughed.

"Okay, I'm gonna head off now." She walked and just before she disappeared behind the church door I heard her saying. "Good luck."

I nodded even though she didn't look back. Suddenly I felt so alone outside the church. James Watson, John's father offered himself to walk me through the aisle, but I politely refused, since I promised my father that he will be the only one who can walked me to my husband. He died before I even met John.

The door opened, and that was my cue to walk.

Everybody slowly rose up from their seat while gazing at me. The 'Cannon' heaved lovingly as I walk down the aisle. I smiled at them before finally darted my eyes to John, whom was more interested in his shoes than me. Shouldn't he like— gawking at me, looked stunned like everybody else or at least looking at me?

I nearly reached half way when he raised his face. I tried to smile, but his body language was making me nervous. Weirdly enough, I didn't even surprised when he mumbled sorry and then run past me, making his way out of the church.

* * *

Any thoughts?


End file.
